


Hips First

by FortinbrasFTW



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Dancing, Drunkenness, M/M, Stripping, in which shin actually sucks at dancing, tower parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: "What the hell are you doing?"Shin blinked back at him, his "dancing" stuttering out like a shook candle. "What'd you think I'm doing?""Are you, uh..." Drifter ran a hand through the back of his hair already wincing, "hurt or sumthin'?"Shin stared back at him for a beat. Drifter tried to smile."I'm leaving."
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Hips First

"Watch it, watch it-" A sharp metal clang echoed in the empty Annex. "HEY! What'd I just say?" Something glass hit a grated metal flooring and rolled empty before clonking to cement.

"You don't have any chairs," Shin said. He leaned over the railing of the platform to peer into the back corners of the room.

"Yeah you're one to talk," Drifter said, stepping up behind him and slipping two fingers under his belt. "You don't have shit."

The music from the party upstairs oozed down through the grates and cracks in the paneling, surprisingly loud for all the structure of the place. Heck, shooting an impending super nova down is as good an excuse as any to let your hair down, so Drifter wasn't going to judge. Anyways, was nice to have it a little quieter in his corner of the mostly-not-on-fire-world, least for an hour or two.

"I want a chair," Shin frowned. Almost a huff really. Drifter grinned into the side of his neck, smelling the slight burn of that solar-tinged moonshine he snatched from a Frame restocking the shindig upstairs.

"Aww, decor not gonna cut it? You get precious when you're tipsy or what?" And hell, maybe he was lit himself, his hands slipped easy as anything around Shin's hips to grip for just a moment on the meat of his thighs. He hadn't even checked how many knives he had on him yet.

Shin turned and slipped past faster than he was ready for. "Shit—" Drifter just tipped forward (just _tipped_ , definitely not didn't stumble), snatching the railing to steady himself.

He felt Shin's cloak ghost against his back and turned to face him, surprised to suddenly see him half a dozen steps back.

"Uh, look, I mean I guess if it's gonna be a fuckin' problem I can clean up the milk in the back—"

"Shut up."

"What? Milk's not that old..."

Shin looks at him as though he's never been more exhausted in his life. "Just... sit."

"Huh?"

"Sit. On that crate."

Drifter shook his head. Fine, whatever. He pulls the old rifle crate out, plopping down. "So, what? I gettin' a talking to or...?" Drifter casually lets his legs fall open as he leans back arms spread over the railing.

"I said shut up... 'fore I change my mind." Shin didn't come closer, but his fingers moved to the clasp of his cape and it dropped to the floor. Drifter shut his mouth.

Shin's eyes slipped shut. He started swaying sorta, like he was off balance. Drifter squinted and realized that he was... dancing? Took a moment to clock it, 'cause even though the music was clear enough down here, he wasn't exactly... on beat. Hell, at least this was getting interesting.

Drifter relaxed back against the railing, watching as Shin's hands started to move towards the straps locking his vest around his torso. He was still doing the sort of you-could-call-it-swaying thing which Drifter was convinced now was more guess work than anything else. Shin caught his finger under the edge of the leather strapping and dragged it back and forth... and back and forth again. Drifter squinted. Shin started moving his shoulders in what could only be described as a tight-ass waggling.

"Uhhh," Drifter couldn't help starting, "Malphur?"

He was just sorta lifting and dropping his shoulders like a confused bird trying to get someone's attention. He snapped the top strap off his chest and closed his eyes with an almost furious expression.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Shin blinked back at him, his "dancing" stuttering out like a shook candle. "What'd you think I'm doing?"

"Are you, uh..." Drifter ran a hand through the back of his hair already wincing, "hurt or sumthin'?"

Shin stared back at him for a beat. Drifter tried to smile.

"I'm leaving."

"Malphur! Hey— wait, Shin c'mon—"

Shin scooped his cloak off the ground in a neat motion, already half way to the door. "Hold on, just hold the fuck on," Drifter went to grab at him and Shin sifted out of the way smooth as sand. "Christ, how can you move good every other way and be such a shit dancer? Just, wait, alright? Hold on—"

Shin turned to face him with his arms crossed loose. "'A shit dancer'."

Drifter stopped a few feet away, "I mean... yeah." He braced himself.

Shin stared at him, then tilted his head a bit to the side. "Really?"

Okay, so he wasn't shot. Drifter sighed. "Yeah. A real special kind of awful. Didn't, uh, no-one ever tell you that?"

"No. I don't dance."

Something hot climbed up the back of Drifter's neck for a moment. He forced it down with a muscle memory grin. It went down harder than usual.

"Now look, 's not that I don't appreciate it or nuthin', fuck just the opposite, but—" Shin was just staring back at him, face blank as a Harpy. "Here, fuck—" Drifter snatched his elbow and Shin let him. He pulled him gently back into the room. Shin didn't resist, so hell at least there was that.

"You sit," Drifter said, hiding his swallow with a grunt.

Shin narrowed his eyes, but lowered himself down pertly, legs now crossed to match his arms, back straight as a blade.

"Fuckin' precious," Drifter grumbled, stepping back. He snagged the rest of the plastic-ass whiskey he'd left by the door in a dinged up metal cup. He shook his head once with a quiet "woof!" before spinning back. The room swam just a touch in a way that was just the right amount of encouraging.

"Hips first, yeah?"

"First to what, give up on you? You got a twinge?"

"Shut the fuck up," Drifter smiled nastily. It was a stupid thing to lie about so why bother; he actually loved the hell out of dancing. It helped that he didn't suck. It was kinda like talking, just letting a cadence roll and catch people up in it. Figures. He never knew when to shut his mouth either.

The music slipped and dripped down through the grates and concrete buttresses of the tower, feeling closer than it ought to. It didn't echo, just oozed in the warmth of the night in a way that felt exactly right. He'd been chuffed when it started. He'd glanced down from the balcony he and Shin had parked at to see people actually finding instruments, drums, jangles, something with strings. The fine folks of Earth's Last Bullshit Bastion had already made it through two barrels of that whiskey that tasted like a shot in the head. By the time the two of them slipped away the thudding of feet was even overwhelming the drums.

The vangaurd's "hoi-polloi" was ready for a break, riding high on a sorry excuse for booze, a glimmer of talent for something besides death, and you know, that rare excuse of just being fucking breathing. They still were from the sound of it, with no sign of slowing down just yet. The pulse of the beat ticked under his feet in time with the ruckus up there, and it was simple as anything to let it drift through him.

"Hips," he repeated, "middle first, yeah? Good a place as any to start." He let his hips catch the beat easing around them. Not sharp on the edges, smooth, a roll against the beat, nuthin' too dramatic. "Don't over salt it." He let his thumbs catch on the edge of his belt, simple, fingers out just enough. He rolled his head back loosely, catching a look at Shin.

He didn't seem impressed, but Drifter had learned by now that was mostly just his face. He was sitting straight, that weird edge he always cut between strict as hell and casual as anything. Drifter had learned longer ago than he cared for, learned to read between his tight-strung lines. He could see the way Shin's fingers splayed on the crate behind him, how he checked one foot forward, the back one bending the toes of those smart boots with a little scuff. But the real tell was in how he was watching him, amused, daring to Drifter make it worth his time, and that, that was always a good start.

Drifter wasn't much for dares, but he did _love_ being exactly fucking right.

"'Course that's all a fine start. Start's just that though, bit like swimming I guess," he eased one hand smooth down his thigh as he let it spread just enough, heel keeping the beat, "at some point you just gotta meet it in the middle." The beat caught and he slapped his hand onto his thigh hard, pushing it back as his hip snapped to the side and he pushed forward, the beat snaking up and around his body before rolling smooth as slink back down again. He went with it, bending low, arching his back on the way up with sharp teeth on his lip.

He hit his full height again, caught the flare in Shin's darkened eyes for a moment, and spun tight to face the opposite way. He tossed his hands out to the side, transmatting his belts away on the same beat, and Crota's-ass must be a bit drunk because he was having _way_ too much damn fun.

"Hips get lonely though," he snapped his top robe open, letting it drop half way down his bare arms, torso still tight in the cling of his black under-layer. He flexed his arms back and let the his shoulders pass the beat, falling in, swelling out, heel tapping with a sharp jingle of spurs on each hit.

"See what I mean?" Drifter let the robe slink down his arms, bit by bit. He wasn't fast like Shin and never would he. He wasn't one tight strung machine of a body, tuned for nothing but one purpose. Wasn't his style, never had been. All that said and done, snapping metal into shapes to make death dance was good for somethings.

He couldn't help smirking over his thick shoulder, "Getting it?"

To anyone else, Malphur woulda easily looked as bored as he might at some Warlock lecture. But, Drifter wasn't just anyone.

Most dangerous guardian in the damn galaxy, and _Drifter_ saw how his knees canted a bit more to the left. _Drifter_ saw how the man with the golden gun curled his fingers at the tips, how the tight set of his jaw went a little slack under his ears. _Drifter_ felt how even ten feet away a lick of heat curled at his neck, smellin' like summer, and pressing eager and unbidden into the weight of his back.

That almost tripped him up. The tickle of caution wriggled, instincts deep-running as dark water warning him up right his throat. What the fuck had he done to get this close, to know something this dangerous this well? If he'd been sober, that might have given him something to hold onto, something to run through the mill of anxieties and cautions later, but down here, cushioned between thumping concrete and the breeze that snuck around the annex's corners from the open sky just outside, warm, smelling of mountain pine, here, he let himself feel _proud_. It was a stupid thing to do, real stupid, but he couldn't help it pooling low in his chest and spreading as his smile did.

He was getting too much practice at being stupid.

Drifter turned into the sun with a smart pivot and dropped the robe. He snapped his chin high and straight-up ground _down_ , thrusting slow and hard into the air with one hand out clenched on nothing. And Shin smiled. Actually fucking smiled.

Drifter headed right for him, faster than even he was ready for. Shin's posture shifted hard, easing, ready for the contact. But the contact didn't come. Drifter snatched the railing on either side of Shin, all the way into his space, but not touching, not yet.

He coulda sworn he felt Shin's breath catch, and heck that was doing more than any engine swiller's bootleg bullshit. He eased deeper into his space, flexing his arms as he smirked and rolled his hips into the empty space between Shins' draped apart thighs.

Shin let his gaze lazily drip from Drifter's bared teeth to the swell of his chest under the fit of his black under-layer, lower, down to where his hips urged in baggy fit of his pants without any sort of rush at all.

"Not bad?" Drifter grinned.

Shin's burning gaze snapped back up to his under those big ass lashes, that little smile still most certainly on. Shin shrugged.

Drifter laughed with a bark. " _Mean!_ "

He'd kicked the crate out from under Shin before he'd realized it. Shin didn't squawk, but the shock that startled over his face was nearly as good. He caught himself on Drifter's chest just as Drifter's shirt evaporated. His hands tightened on easy muscle and Drifter caught him under the ass with both hands, dragging him right into the roll of his hips.

Shin's eyes went dark, and with the hard dick now firmly pressed into Drifter's stomach it was decidedly trickier to keep up the act.

"Cheater," Shin noted, voice rough in the space just between them.

"Yeah," Drifter chuckled, running his nose up the edge of Shin's neck. "What a shock."

Drifter flexed his hands against Shin's ass feeling the way he slipped into him rhythmic, easy as anything.

Drifter blinked. "You do actually suck at this, right?"

Shin lolled his arms around Drifter's neck, knitting his fingers together with the same little smile. "Absolutely."

Drifter narrowed his eyes back at him. Shin just met the look, simple as anything. He snapped his hips smart and low and caught his own lip in a smug smile.

"Hips first... right?"

Drifter spun him tight, slamming him against the nearest wall hard enough to startle smugness right out with a satisfying gasp.

Drifter grinned into his neck. "Cheater."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated <3
> 
> Find me on twitter @fortinbrasftw


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